Shrieks and Screams

Call me Mother of the Year.

I realize that Halloween is nearly here, which would therefore suggest my title. However, the shrieks and screams I'm referring to have nothing to do with ghosts and goblins and everything to do with a preschooler and a newborn. And a frustrated mommy.

There has got to be an easier way to do this. Where the heck did I put the children's owner's manual? I'm certain they came with one. Didn't they? No? Drat.

I'm currently trying to redo Peanut's task schedule. Every day, every task must be explained step by step as though he's never gotten dressed, brushed his teeth, etc. And when I wait for him to accomplish these tasks without verbal prompting, he stands there waiting. Because Peanut is a boy who needs routine, and the prompts are part of the routine. Mostly I understand this, but it's infuriating that I have to tell my brilliant son every single morning how to put on socks. He knows what he needs to do. He knows how to do what he needs to do. So why does he need me standing over him telling him how to do what he needs to do? A deep breath, a quick smile, and we're on for another day. And tonight, Peanut didn't have to be told to pick up his clothes. It's a start.

It should be noted that this is not made better with sleep deprivation. While Tula is a delight (as is Peanut when I'm not completely frustrated), she is still up in the night. And colicky. I really hate colic. I hate knowing my child hurts and there is nothing I can do to ease her pain. That's where Boomer comes in. He takes her, rocks her, walks with her and somehow breaks out Daddy Magic and gets her to sleep... all while telling me to freaking go to bed already because he's got this. Now I know why there's a two-parent system in this house.

This too shall pass. I will sleep more than three hours at a time. I will not have to repeat myself day after day. I will, however, still be on the lookout for that manual. I'm sure I've seen it. Somewhere.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Mutiny!

Call me Mother of the Year.

So Peanut is still completely enamored with his Tula. He begs to hold her every chance he gets, constantly talks about her and to her, and does his level best to hold her hand and shower her with stuffed animals. That's the good news.

The bad news is Peanut has a cold. And Boomer and I are desperately trying to keep it from Tula. We're also trying to explain this to Peanut. That's the bad news.

In our attemps (so far successful- fingers crossed!) to keep our faithful big brother from his adored little sister, I've been sequestered in my room while Peanut keeps his run of the house. The downside is Peanut gets less of my time and attention. This is bad. Really bad. For one thing, I miss hanging out with my son. For another, Peanut has been breaking out quite the attitude. I thought I had a few more years, but let's face it, this is my kid we're dealing with.

After a week straight of time outs, temper tantrums, and my going hoarse from yelling, Peanut and I finally had a meeting of the minds today. I realized that the issue was a lack of attention on my part, and he realized that I seriously do not like punishing my son. Tonight went better after I took a few deep breaths and he actually listened to me. For five whole seconds. Beggars cannot be choosers.

I'm taking comfort in the fact that as bad as this has been, at least Peanut never took his bad mood out on his little sister. This could have been so much worse. I can deal with bad moods (mostly) but if Peanut raged against Tula, I don't know how I'd cope.

Right now, though, I'm hoping the worst of this cold is over. I want to hang out with my son again. I want to revel in the joys of both of my children. I want the preschooler mutiny to end so I can finally remind Peanut that he is not in charge. Boomer and I are. Repeat as necessary. And, most importantly, let my son teach his little sister some of his tricks. Some, not all.

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's A... Big Brother!

Call me Mother of the Year.

First of all, I must apologize to my loyal readers... all twelve of you. I have abandoned you in your need for sarcastic mommy moments. I'm truly sorry. And truly sleep-deprived.

There is a reason I haven't been writing. Peanut, Boomer and I would like to announce that Peanut is a very proud big brother! Tula came screaming into our lives at 1:11 in the afternoon on September 9. Yes, I know. 9/9/09. My midwife is still laughing. For the record, Tula is the Norwegian word for doll. It's appropriate because she is a little doll. Practically perfect in every way. Thus says the completely biased mommy.

Peanut is an amazing big brother. He loves talking about his Tula, trying to hold her all by himself (not happening), and showing her how to put shoes on and talk. We're still trying to grasp the concept that babies cannot talk, but so far that's the only sticking point. His entire preschool class celebrated with him- I suspect they were happier with the cookies I sent, but whatever. Plus, I now have the bonus of listening to my brilliant, empathetic son sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" as soon as he hears his sister crying. My heart melts every time. Cutest thing ever.

Make no mistake, I'll be writing more often. Let's face it, I have twice the kids to write about! Twice the love and pride in my kids! Twice the sarcasm! Let the ride continue!

Call me Mother of the Year.

Not Today

Call me Mother of the Year.

Or not. I'm not feeling like Mother of the Year. I'm feeling more like an exhausted scrap of motherhood who's been run over by a tantrum-throwing preschooler.

Today started at 5:00 a.m. because Peanut decided that he was done with this sleeping nonsense. It needs to be said that Boomer kept sending Peanut back to bed in an effort to stave off what would end up being 3:00 p.m. exhaustion. Being a child who knows what he wants when he wants it, Peanut refused to sleep.

The only good thing about this is there were no tantrums at school. I asked.

Suffice it to say that as soon as Peanut came home, the demands started. And the tantrums when the vast majority of said demands were refused. Thus the four time-outs. And the cancellation of the park playdate. No way was I inflicting a tired Peanut onto an unsuspecting public.

Make no mistake, tantrums aren't a new event around here. They had, however, taken a hiatus and I was happy for it. I know how to deal with them, but it's more difficult now that I'm a week away from a C section and trying to help Peanut understand the major changes his life will take.

For now, Peanut's over being angry with me. He's digging in his sandbox, and earlier we broke out stories. I'm remembering that while his behavior is my problem, it isn't my fault. More than likely, he's just exhausted. I'm seeing an early bedtime in his near future. Mine too, come to that.

And now that I have at least some of my mommy confidence back, you may use my title again.

Call me Mother of the Year.

All Grown Up... For Now

Call me Mother of the Year.

Today was the day Peanut and I have both been looking forward to- first day of school. More importantly, first day on the school bus. We were having our "thou shalt stay seated on the school bus" discussion when Peanut asked if I was riding the bus with him. The crunching sound you hear would be my heart. No, I explained that the bus was for big kids like himself. Thankfully, his driver let me get a picture of him on the bus. It was enough. And I hauled myself into the house before he saw me wipe a tear. Pregnancy hormones and big moments just do not mix well. Of course, he did just fine at school and on the bus, and his driver complimented me and him for his fine manners. Apparently he thanked the driver for taking him to school and for bringing him home. That's my boy. There were many hugs and a request for milk. And there was much rejoicing.

Later on, Boomer and I took Peanut along to my checkup. Peanut had a fine time charming my midwife and her nurse, and helping himself to suckers. The best was when he thanked her and asked if Mommy and Daddy could have suckers too. When his request was granted, he immediately handed them over to us. My kid is awesome.

Peanut has finally heard the baby... okay, he's heard the baby's heartbeat... and he's quite excited by this. He's also heard his heartbeat, Boomer's heartbeat, and was doing his level best to hear the midwife's before Boomer and I put a stop to his requests. It's been a full day for my baby- who isn't a baby anymore. Sooner I realize that, happier I'll be. For now, though, he's curled up with his head under the pillow, visions of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles no doubt bouncing through his dreams. And tomorrow is another day of adventure.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Brotherly Love

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm having a lazy day today with Peanut due to the fact that preschool starts tomorrow. And I'm feeling lazy, but that's beside the point. We're making sure all supplies are properly marked and ready to go for tomorrow, but we're still taking time to hang out.

Peanut realizes that he no longer fits comfortably on my lap, so if I'm sitting or lying on the couch, it's hug time. The new favorite game is "Squeeze" (fairly self-explanatory) and the idea of Peanut and Papa. During the day, I'm the favorite target. And quite happy about it.

So this afternoon Peanut decides it's time to squeeze me. He comes flying at me and accidentally lands on my belly. Right on his unborn sibling's head. Figures. I explain that's not a good idea, and Peanut asks if he can feel the baby. I have no objection, and my favorite moment of the afternoon occurs.

Peanut leans in, and whispers to my stomach "Hi baby. It's me, Peanut. Don't be scared."

And my heart melts.

Was I really concerned about how Peanut would do with this big brother idea? Granted, it'll be a whole different ball game when the baby makes its appearance. For right now, though, smart money says my little man will make a terrific big brother.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Time for Sleep

Call me Mother of the Year.

Today begat new adventures in the life of Peanut. Somewhere, surely, grandparents are laughing.

The day began at the obscene hour of 5:30 a.m. It's obscene because Baby the Second has a habit of kicking me awake (literally) at 4:00 a.m. For once, Peanut was not the first to herald the day. Doggy Luke received that dubious honor. Boomer got up to escort Doggy to his morning chase-the-rabbits-and-sniff-the-yard experience and was heard muttering "if you wake the kid I will kill you". No sooner than Doggy and Boomer come back to bed, Peanut decides to blast us awake at full volume. He stood in the middle of our room and bellowed "MORNING, MOM AND DAD!!" Sadly, he could not understand why we were less than amused by this. The greeting was followed by an hour's worth of "go back to sleep, Peanut; it's too early to be awake."

Boomer got his revenge later. After Peanut fell asleep in the car on the way home, he and Boomer both took naps this afternoon. Boomer came into Peanut's room and gently told him it was time to wake up. Peanut opened one eye, looked at Boomer, and stated the obvious:

"It's too early, Daddy. Go back to your room, and go to sleep."

And Boomer had to stifle his laughter. Peanut was eventually lured out of bed with the promise of his water table and sandbox (not necessarily in that order). A grand time was had by all. Hopefully, Peanut has learned why 5:30 is not an acceptable wake-up time. Somehow, I have my doubts.

Call me Mother of the Year.